Winchester Moments
by Daughters of Gondor
Summary: A series of snippets of the Winchesters, preseries. They won't be in chronological order.
1. Broken Soul

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own Supernatural or the Winchesters. Anything you don't recognize is ours._

_**A/N:** AU in so far as, in our 'verse John comes from a long line of Supernatural Hunters and there will be small allusions to that fact throughout some of these 'chapters'. We have more of these, so if you want more let us know._

_Enjoy!_

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_**Broken Soul**_

_**California**_

_**August 2001**_

"So you're just gonna leave? You're gonna turn your back on everything you've ever known, and walk away!"

Sam sighed, and continued stuffing his clothing in the second of two duffle bags, "He's left me no choice, Dean."

"You always have a choice, Sam!" Dean replied.

"What choice!" Sam snapped, facing his brother, his gaze narrowed in rare temper, "He made it for me when he told me to get out and never come back!"

Dean spun on his heel, pacing to give himself time to rein in his temper, "No, Sammy. You made the choice when you decided to go to college and leave the family business."

"And that's a crime?" Sam asked, "Wanting to be…normal…is a sin?"

"We're Winchesters, Sammy." Dean replied, "We're not normal."

"Well, I'm going to be." Sam vowed, lifting one of the duffle bags to his shoulder, "All this hunting…it's not me. Not anymore."

There was a stretch of silence as Dean studied his brother's set expression. Finally he heaved a sigh and shook his head, making his way to the door, "Find your own ride, Sammy. I'm not helping you run away."

Then he was gone, leaving Sam alone in the small bedroom of the rundown house the Winchesters had lived in the last few years as a permanent home base, for education purposes for both Sam and Dean, though mainly for Sam, while they traveled to any gig they found. The younger Winchester heaved a shuddery sigh, forcing down the pain from the almost physical blow his brother had just dealt him by walking away.

It didn't occur to him at the moment that he'd been about to do the walking himself.

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Stopping in the middle of the small dorm Sam dropped his bags on one of the two, as yet, unclaimed bunks and sighed, looking around the room. It was small, barely half the size of the small room he'd shared with Dean on and off for the last few years, and by the looks of things he was sharing this small space with at least one other person, if not two.

The road to college had been one heck of a trial. As if finding a cab to actually navigate the busy streets wasn't hard enough during move-in day, he then had the misfortune of still feeling like an outsider.

While Sam had always been good at school, he had always been, and still was, so different than the other students. Those other students had all been with parents, friends, and siblings who all came in full cars ready to wish their loved ones good luck. By comparison, Sam, with his two duffle bags, and second hand clothes, looked like a lost puppy.

But the hardest part to watch was the families going to say goodbye.

The boy in the room next to Sam's had come with both his parents, and what looked like a younger brother. The father had simply declared how proud he was of his son, which touched a fresh ache in Sam's heart, remembering all too well the last words he and his father had spoken to each other. The younger brother had simply clapped his older brother on the shoulder, clearly wanting to say more, but refusing to acknowledge affection in public. That made Sam smile a little because it was something Dean would have done. Then the mother had thrown her arms around her son, trying not to cry but not succeeding. Sam had had to shut the door on that scene…because all he'd felt was a void.

Shaking his head he sat down beside his bags, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. Letting his mind wander he slipped in and out of a light doze, having developed the skill of dozing in an upright position during the last nine or ten years he'd spent hunting. Slowly, as he settled into more of a real sleep he slipped sideways until he was lying with his head pillowed on one of his bags.

What could have been minutes or hours later he was awakened by a sharp whisper, "Dude, keep it down. He's obviously tired, don't wake him."

For a moment he let himself believe he was back home, and it was Dean who spoke, but as full wakefulness returned, so did his memory. Suddenly wide awake he shot up into a sitting position, his hunter instincts on high alert, and found himself the object of study.

There were two other guys in the dorm room, one, a black kid about Sam's own age, sitting on the opposite bed reading a book, the other sitting a couple feet away at a desk. The one on the bed grinned at Sam, setting his book down, and held out a hand to shake.

"Hey, Dude. I'm Jason Hart. I'm your roommate." He motioned to the kid at the desk, "Curt Mason, from across the hall. You'll see him a lot, he likes to mooch off me."

"Uh, Sam," Sam responded, having to think a moment, more accustomed to giving a false name rather than his real one, and accepted the offered handshake, "Sam Winchester."

A ripple of something...longing, pain...whispered through him. Jason's mannerisms, and speech pattern, even the grin on his face, reminded Sam painfully of Dean. On one hand, it comforted him, making him feel slightly more at home, but on the other...it hurt to be faced with someone so similar to Dean, yet nothing like Dean at all.

Sitting back, unaware of Sam's well-hidden thoughts, Jason glanced at the two duffle bags, "Dude, is that all you brought?"

Sam gave a slightly sheepish laugh, "That's all I own. Well, that and a bike."

Curt shook his head, "You're joking, right?"

Mirroring the headshake Sam sighed, "Nope."

Jason cocked a brow, "Not gonna take up much room, are ya?"

Lifting one shoulder in a shrug Sam released another sigh, "Except for the added room of a rented laptop, which will be here tomorrow…guess not."

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Hours later Sam stopped outside the door of his dorm room, regretting his decision to let Jason and Curt drag him out to an off-campus party at Jason's cousin's. Alcohol, loud music, and girls galore…

Sam had been forced to do some pretty fast talking to escape when he had. Jason was certainly going to be an interesting roommate because he sure didn't listen when Sam had gently explained that he wasn't a big drinker.

Another Dean-like quality. One Sam had always been annoyed at in his brother, but suddenly found ironically, though still annoyingly, endearing in Jason.

Shaking his head at the twists life threw at a person, Sam dug his key from his pocket to unlock the door. The moment he stepped into the dorm and let the door swing shut behind him Sam knew something was amiss.

Someone had been inside.

Letting his gaze scan the darkened room for anything out of place he instinctively stepped toward his bed where his unpacked bags still sat. It was only when he glanced down at the bed that he noticed the familiar box sitting beside the bags.

A box he knew hadn't been there when he'd left earlier.

Reaching back to flip on the lights Sam sat down on his bed, picking up the box. He simply sat there for a moment, studying it. Polished mahogany, branded on the lid with a Celtic Shield Knot of Protection, etched in ancient antique gold, outlined in crimson. It was old beyond measure, even John had no idea how far back it's history went, yet had few blemishes on it's gleaming surface.

Sam had received it when he was nine, from Dean, claiming it had been in the family for years, passed down through the oldest son for too many generations to count. Dean had chosen to give it, and it's contents, to Sam, breaking that tradition.

Lightly tracing the protection knot on the lid Sam reached up to pull off the leather cord around his neck, using the key hanging on it to unlock the box, and lifted the surprisingly heavy lid. A folded sheet of paper was settled inside the box, on top of the hand held scythe nestled snugly in the velvet lined, padded box. Sam swallowed thickly at the sight of Dean's familiar, loopy scrawl, spelling out _'Sammy'_ on the paper. The name he loved to hate because it always came from Dean.

Pulling in a deep breath he lifted the paper out of the box, hesitating a moment, somewhat leery of what his brother had written. The last time he'd seen Dean, the elder Winchester had been more than a little upset at him for leaving.

Releasing the breath he unfolded the paper and read the short note:

'_I forgive you for leaving this life, the hunt, behind, for leaving Dad. You're my little brother, Sammy. Always will be, and I love you. That won't change. But I can't forgive you for leaving me. Not yet.'_

Almost without thinking Sam got to his feet and moved over to the window, and looked out. He located the black Impala parked on the street just out of reach of the street light moments before Dean drove away. Placing his hand on the window glass, palm flat, Sam released a shuddery sigh.

"I love you, too, Dean," he murmured before turning way. At that moment Sam felt the same pain that Dean had felt because he understood. The two of them had been each other's shadow for years…in fact Sam had no memories in his entire life that didn't include Dean. That fact brought tears to Sam's eyes for the first time in years since tonight was going to be the first night of his life without his brother.

Ignoring the outside world, Sam didn't see that seconds later a truck pulled to a stop in almost the exact place the Impala had recently vacated. John Winchester got out to more easily locate the window he sought. He sighed as he was just able to make out Sam's back as his younger son turned away from the window.

He watched for a moment, until Sam was fully out of sight, sighing, "Be safe, Sammy. I'm proud of you."

_**END**_


	2. First Date

_**First Date**_

_**California**_

_**May 1998**_

The TV made a jumble of noises in voices of varying timbre as the channels changed rapidly, controlled by the remote in Dean's hand as he lay sprawled on the single bed, one of two he'd convinced John to spend the extra money to buy, instead of one double. The double they'd had prior to two years earlier had gone bye-bye when he'd been rudely awakened in the middle of the night upon receiving a bloody nose and split lip, courtesy of the back of Sammy's head, as the younger Winchester had developed a tendency to thrash around in his sleep. At the time Dean had vindictively pushed his younger brother off the bed, where he'd landed with a bone-jarring thud on the thin carpet, then gotten up himself to staunch the flow of blood before he 'bled to death'.

The jumble of voices was becoming nerve-racking and Sam glared over his shoulder from where he stood in front of the mirror, "Could you just settle on one channel, please!"

Dean barely spared him a glance, "I wanna see what's on but everything's at a commercial…Oh, Dude! Taz!"

The channel surfing abruptly stopped and the spluttering squeal-growl of the Tasmanian Devil filled the room, followed by Dean's chuckle as Bugs Bunny tricked Taz into eating a cooked chicken that was really a barrel of gunpowder with dynamite for the legs. Shaking his head Sam turned back to the mirror, running a comb through his hair for what seemed the tenth time in as many minutes.

"You know," Dean drawled, not taking his eyes of the TV, "If you left it a little messy it would look better. Chicks love scruffy. That's why they love me."

"No, Dean," Sam sighed, fighting with the tie at his neck, "They love you because you're easy."

Finally looking over, Dean grinned, "Yeah, that too. Need some help?"

Sam snorted in disbelief, purposely glancing at the white t-shirt Dean wore tucked into snug black jeans, "What do you know about tying a tie?"

"Hey, it's a skill that has come in handy more than once, Sammy Boy." Dean said as he got up and walked over, pushing his brother's hands away, "You never know when we'll have to dress to impress."

"Sammy Boy?" Sam grumbled.

Dean merely grinned as he finished tying the tie in record time and gave an exaggerated sigh as he stepped back to give the younger teen a once over. He gave a small teeter-totter of his head.

"I still can't believe you have a date. I remember you running around in diapers." Dean drawled, adding in an entirely too serious tone, "There goes my deepest wish to see you as a priest."

Another sharp snort escaped Sam as he rolled his eyes, "Right. The likelihood of me ever being a priest is only slightly better than you becoming one. Zip to none."

"I always thought it would be nice to have a priest in the family," Dean joked, absently straightening Sam's suit jacket, "I mean, all the confessions we miss due to the fact that anyone else would have us committed…"

"Right," Sam replied, "You're too far gone to be saved by confession, Dean…or so Pastor Jim says. Besides, me as a priest? Come on."

"Maybe you're right." Dean mock sighed, "So, you ready for this date?"

"It's not a date." Sam argued as he followed Dean out of the room, "It's just…Tami's just a friend."

A disbelieving chuckle was Dean's only response.

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Dean pulled the Impala to a stop outside the house Sam pointed to and put it in park sneering as he looked at the yard. It was the stereotypical normal, neighborhood residence. White picket fence, shutters on the widows, flower beds bordering the porch, children's outdoor toys littering the lawn.

Sam cocked a brow when he heard Dean release an exaggerated shudder, "What?"

"It's so…" Dean started, his sneer returning, "Domestic."

Sam looked over, almost longingly, at the house, "It looks normal."

"Normal is boring, Sammy." Dean responded, purposely turning his gaze away as his eyes teared up a bit at the vague memories of Mama and just how precious being normal really was.

Looking back at Dean, Sam shook his head, "Whatever. I'll be right back."

At that Sam opened his door to get out but looked back at the last moment, "Dean. Do me a favor."

Dean met his gaze, "Anything, Sammy."

"That's what I wanted." Sam replied with a sigh, "Don't call me Sammy in front of Tami and the rest of the people at this dance. Please."

A moment passed as Dean considered, before heaving a put-upon sigh, "I'll try."

Knowing that was the best he was going to get, Sam shook his head and made to get out of the car. At the last second Dean's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Sam, you forgot something."

Sam looked back, "What."

Without replying Dean reached out and mussed Sam's neatly combed hair, pulling an un-Samlike squeal from the younger Winchester.

"Dean!" Sam complained, trying to straighten his hair with his hands.

Dean just grinned, "Better go get your girl, Sammy, or you'll be late."

Throwing a glare at Dean as he got out of the car Sam walked toward the house grumbling curses under his breath.

He made it up the side walk, up the steps, and to the front door before he paused, nervousness freezing him in place. Absently he straightened his suit and hair, loosened and retightened his tie, then released a heavy breath.

He'd faced demons, poltergeists, werewolves, and pissed off spirits. Received scars from bites, scratches, even a graze from a silver bullet fired from a shot gun in the hands of one of those same pissed off spirits, or had it been a demon? Then, of course, there was the half inch scar just below his hairline above the outer corner of his right eye, courtesy of being dropped on his head by Dean when he was eleven.

Surely he could work up the courage to knock on a door and face a mere girl…even one as pretty and popular as Tamera Abrams.

An obviously amplified snort of laughter from the Impala spurred Sam into action again, even as Dean added, "Anytime, now, Sammy. I have a date waitin' for me, too, ya know."

"Probably more than one, and probably someone else's." Sam mumbled as he straightened his shoulders and knocked.

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Dean was having the time of his life as he managed to keep track of not one, but two girls out on the dance floor. Two sisters who were new to the school, Tanya, who was 18, and Sara, who was 17, both of whom Dean had met while sitting on the hood of the Impala in the school parking lot, waiting for Sam to get out. Unfortunately, they weren't into threesomes.

"You don't suppose you could snag us another guy," Sara suggested coyly, as she nodded to someone over Dean's shoulder.

Rolling his eyes, Dean looked over his shoulder to view Sam by himself at the punch bowl, looking somewhat depressed. Dean had to grin to himself. Even at 15 Sam could attract women older than him simply because he looked old for his age, and acted much more mature than most people in their 20's. And if there was anyone Dean would be willing to lose a girl to, it would be his brother.

Flashing a charming grin at Tanya and Sara, Dean started making his way over to collect Sam, "Now, I won't disappoint ladies as lovely as you two."

Ignoring requests to dance and any 'weird Winchester' comments that bothered Sam to no end, but just rolled right over Dean, he quickly made it to the food table.

"How is it you haven't been hogtied by the entire football team, and dragged outside to be beaten up?" Sam asked shaking his head as Dean approached.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Have you not noticed the whole line of guys standing against the bleachers glaring at you?"

Dean looked over, "Yeah…what's up with that? Just jealous because they couldn't get a date."

"They have dates, Dean," Sam said, "You've been dancing with them all night!"

"Really," Dean said with a grin as he turned to regard the men still glaring at him, grinning wider as at least one of them flipped him the finger, "Well, you snooze you lose. Where's your date?"

"Shut up," Sam said through gritted teeth.

"What happened?" Dean asked, completely not joking for once.

"Apparently she just needed someone her parent's approved of to take her to the dance where her actual boyfriend would be waiting."

Dean felt a spike of anger as he looked around for Tami and her boyfriend. Nobody messed with Sammy but him. However, he did take some pleasure in the fact that the bitch seemed to be in a heated argument with said boyfriend.

"No problem, Sammy," Dean said taking a hold of Sam's arm, "I've got backup, and you're gonna love it."

"What?" Sam asked hesitantly as Dean dragged him away from the refreshment table. He had seen Dean's type…and it wasn't exactly Sam's type.

He kept his gaze lowered as Dean stopped, pulled him around in front of him, and asked, grinning, "Is he who you were thinking of, darlin'?"

"Mm-hmm."

The two-toned, wordless response was husky, drawing Sam's gaze up of it's own accord, and his breath caught. She was pretty, in a blonde bombshell way, yet still had a sweet face and disposition as she smiled at him. He just knew he was staring like a fool, with his jaw hanging lax.

Clearing his throat to get Sam's attention Dean put his arm around his brother's shoulders and gave a slight squeeze, "Girls, this is my brother, Sammy. Sammy, Tanya and Sara Monroe."

At that he pushed Sam hard between his shoulder blades, toward Sara, with a slyly drawled, "Have fun, Sammy."

The younger Winchester spun to face Dean and hissed, "It's _Sam_, you jerk!"

Unfortunately, Dean was already focused on other things, such as trying to find his tongue after apparently losing it down Tanya's more than willing throat. He tensed when a hand fell on his shoulder, and stiffly turned to face Sara.

She was smiling softly as she spoke, "Sammy, hmm. I think it's cute."

Sam sputtered for a moment before deciding to follow Dean's example by pulling Sara's mouth toward his, "You can call me whatever you want."

For the next few seconds the world around them disappeared…until Dean brushed by them with Tanya snuggled against his side. Sam broke the kiss with Sara as he felt his brother slip something into his pocket as he passed.

Suspicious of Dean's actions Sam hesitantly reached into his own pocket and pulled out the square, foil packet, blinked, and shoved it back in his pocket, his face heating.

Sara pressed a teasing kiss to the corner of Sam's mouth and whispered, "I saw that…Looks fun."

Again Sam blinked, then let Sara pull him toward the gym doors.

As Sam left the gym, he didn't notice the bitter eyes of all the jealous football players, or the glare from Tami, who's own evening had gone less than planned, as her friend remarked, "Didn't take him long to get over you."

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Dean sat slumped in his car whistling along to the Metallica song playing at a low volume, a relaxed grin on his face as he watched Sam fairly strut across the nearly empty parking lot toward him. He glanced at his watch and grinned.

11:59. A full ten minutes after Dean had knocked lightly on the fogged window of Tanya and Sara's flashy Trans Am. Beside him Tanya yawned and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Dean's cheek, murmured an invite to get together the next day, then got out just as Sam reached the Impala. Tanya uttered a soft good bye to the younger Winchester and walked away. Sam silently got into the car, refusing to meet Dean's gaze.

"Roomy back seat?" Dean asked, his grin obvious in his tone alone.

Sam remained silent and Dean added, "You still got the condom?"

"No." Sammy mumbled.

A dirty laugh escaped the elder brother as he reached forward to start the Impala, "That's my boy."

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John sat at the small dining room table, in the dark, tapping his fingernails in annoyance as he heard the Impala pull into the driveway and the car doors slam. He scowled as he glanced at the clock…12:21 p.m. Those boys had a lot of explaining to do since they had gone out when John had distinctly told them to stay in, then worried him senseless by having him come back to an empty house.

He waited silently as the door opened, listening to Dean as he said, "You may want to wear high collars for a few days until the mark fades, Sammy."

"What mark?" Sam asked as he stepped inside and flipped on the light, freezing as he caught sight of John. Dean stopped just behind Sam, both of them with the deer-in-headlight look.

"Dad!"

John cocked a brow, recognizing the signs, knowing what exactly had kept his sons out this late, "Boys."

Dean stepped forward, around Sam, hands held up placatingly, "I can explain everything."

Sam nudged his brother in the side and gave him a meaningful look when the elder boy met his gaze. When Dean turned back to John he sighed, "Almost everything."

Slowly getting to his feet John approached his sons, detecting…and recognizing…the scent clinging to both his sons, but letting it slide for the moment, "Where were you?"

"There was a summer dance at school." Sam replied, knowing it was pointless to lie to John Winchester.

"I see." John drawled, before purposely misunderstanding when he asked, "And you…went together?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply but was beat to the catch by Dean's witty comeback attempt to disarm the situation, "Nah, he's not my type. Sammy had a date that we…picked up. And my date was already there."

Shaking his head John let his gaze slide over both his sons, noting rumpled clothing, relaxed stance, and the smug gleam in both sets of eyes. His gaze stopped as it landed on the small mark on Sam's throat, and his brow hiked up.

"Sammy, is that a…bite mark?"

The youngest Winchester tensed, "Uh…I, uh…"

He cut off abruptly and ran, heading for the hallway to the bedroom he shared with Dean, too quickly for John to catch him. Turning back to Dean John tilted his head, obviously waiting for the rest of the explanation.

Dean sighed, "It was Sammy's first date, Dad."

Paternal pride made it's appearance at that. His baby boy was growing up.

"How'd it go?"

"Well, she was a bitch who just used him to hide the fact that she was meeting the boyfriend her parents hate." Dean half snarled, still angry that she'd used his brother that way, "But I hooked him up with a 17 year old…"

Realizing that was probably a little more than John needed to know, Dean cut off abruptly, expecting John to roar. Not many parents would like the fact that their 15 year old had just gone to home base with a 17 year old. So he was shocked when John released a laugh, his eyes flashing with pride as he turned to the hallway where Sam had snuck back toward the kitchen to listen. Both brothers were startled by what their father said next.

"Atta boy, Sammy."

Sam looked taken aback, "Uh…thanks, Dad."

Dean gave a disbelieving gasp, "He gets commended, 'atta boy, Sammy,' and I got grounded when you caught me with…whatever her name was?"

"Dean," John started, seriously, "You were 14. She was 19."

_**END**_


	3. Mine

_**A/N:** Decided to post the original chapter 3 as a stand-alone so we replaced it with this one. _

_Enjoy._

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_**Mine!**_

_**Wisconsin**_

_**September 1986**_

"_Give that back, Sammy, I need it for school!"_

"_It Sammy's!"_

"_No, it's not!"_

John sighed as the shouts echoed throughout the small house. Sammy had finally gotten over his fixation with the word 'no' after nearly a year, but he'd firmly settled on an equally annoying replacement three months earlier…

Mine.

Sammy was liked a dog with a bone when he settled his mind on something, including his current 'mine' mentality. Anything and everything he thought looked fun he promptly claimed, usually something of Dean's that the older boy used a lot or held dear.

As the shouts continued, the eldest Winchester did his best to ignore them, concentrating on cooking breakfast. He knew well enough that the longer he waited to get involved, the longer he could still pretend that nothing was going on, in spite of the yelling, but he'd actually gotten quite good at ignoring it. The moment he got involved he knew he'd have, not one, but two pouting boys on his hands.

It happened invariably. Sammy would pout because he would most likely be forced to return whatever he'd claimed since, if it truly was for school, Dean would need it. Dean would be pouting because, like clockwork, the minute John interrupted, Sammy entered grudge mode and blamed Dean.

Sammy could hold a grudge better than someone twenty years his senior, an amazing feat for a three year old, and would stubbornly hold onto it until Dean gave in, however many hours or days later, and gave Sammy whatever he had originally laid claim to. Sammy was Dean's only weakness and he was never happy if the toddler was upset. If Sammy was happy, Dean was happy.

Beyond that, John hated getting between his boys, and hoped they were never forced into a position where they had to make a choice between each other or him. If it ever happened he knew he'd have to come up with something drastic to get them back on the same side, even if it pitted them against him. It would always be a sacrifice he was willing to make. His boys came first, always, even above himself. He'd gladly sacrifice his own happiness so long as his sons were together and safe.

The shouts got louder as the boys entered the kitchen and John was jostled as Sammy inserted himself between his legs and the oven door. Dean gave a low growl.

"Dad, he's got my crayons for school. I have art today."

Sighing John looked down at Sam and saw the green and yellow Crayola box hugged tightly against the small body. He nearly winced as the toddler turned his limpid dark brown eyes, pooling with pleading tears, up to meet his.

They were his eyes, but he could still see Mary in them and in that innocent little face. Dean was all him, save for Mary's eyes, but Sam was all her.

"Sammy," John started.

The toddler stuck out his bottom lip, hugging the box of crayons tighter, "No. Mine."

"Dean needs them for school, Sammy." John tried again.

"No. It Sammy's," the toddler pouted, "Sammy says."

Dean sneered at his little brother, "It's _Simon Says_, brat."

Sammy's bottom lip trembled as he sniffled at the insult. John glared at his elder son, "Dean! Sammy's only three, he doesn't know any better."

The older boy pouted a moment at being chastised before turning the attention away from himself and back on his brother, "I still need my crayons for art."

Recognizing the ploy, but letting it pass, John lifted Sammy into his arms and met his gaze, "Sammy, Deano needs his crayons…"

"No, Daddy," Sammy wheedled, giving his puppy look, "Mine."

A small moan escaped John at that look. He couldn't say no. Sighing he turned to Dean. The older boy scoffed, knowing what was coming.

"Just…let him keep this box, Dean. All his are broken."

"Because _he_ broke them." Dean sneered again.

John continued talking as if Dean hadn't spoken, knowing it would annoy the seven year old, which was better punishment at the moment than chiding him would be, "We'll stop at the general store and buy you a new box on the way to school."

At that Dean's attitude brightened and he grinned cajolingly, "64?"

The eldest Winchester sighed, "32, just like before."

"But, Daddy," Dean pleaded, knowing the term 'daddy' worked for him the same way the puppy look worked for Sammy, "64 is so much cooler. And everyone in my class will be so jealous."

Bringing one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose, John closed his eyes, wondering what he'd ever done to deserve two sons like Sam and Dean when they were like this. Of course, it didn't help that they both had him wrapped around their little fingers.

He sighed, shaking his head, "Fine. I'll buy you a box of 64."

As Dean skipped off to the table to wait for his breakfast John looked at Sammy, frowning at the thoughtful scowl on the toddler's face, "What's wrong, Sammy?"

"I want new cwayons like Deano."

John moaned. It was going to be a long, long day.

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Sam was sitting on the floor surrounded by blocks while John sat on the edge of the couch skimming a book on demonology, cross-referencing with his grandfathers' and father's old journals, and scribbling down notes he felt may be helpful in his own hunt for Mary's killer. He came from two long standing lines of hunters, his mother's and his father's. Winchester and James, both families of supernatural hunters, leaving behind a lot of information regarding the supernatural world. Surely there had to be something useful in his family history given the wealth of information he had access to.

It was said that the James men had become hunters in the mid 1900's when one of their own had turned on her own husband and children, leaving none alive. It had later been discovered she'd been possessed at the time, which had led to the hunt. Even a few of the James women had joined the hunt.

On the other hand, Winchester men had been hunters as far back as the late 1800's. One of John's ancestor's on their side had even been said to have finally vanquished the father of all vampires, Dracula, after a supposed 400 year reign.

Apparently Bram Stoker's vampire had been based on reality.

His whole childhood John had been trained how to fight the evil of the world when he wasn't in school. His mother had insisted he be allowed to get at least a high school education. He'd never gotten a chance to thank her before she'd died of cancer when he was 13, making his father promise to let him graduate. She'd given him as normal a childhood as he could have with a hunter for a father, which was the reason he made sure Dean, and Sammy, when the time came, always had the chance to go to a real school so they, too, could get diplomas.

Ironically, John had hated hunting as he'd grown up, and the moment he'd turned 18 and graduated he'd escaped to the Marines, vowing to never return to the life he'd led up to then. Yet, here he was, roughly a decade later, reminding himself of everything he'd tried to forget during his time in the Marines and his few short years with Mary.

It bothered him that he would be raising his sons the way he'd been raised, as soldiers, robbing them of the normal childhood he'd hungered for his entire life. It pained him that he couldn't give it to them. That thing had wanted Sammy, and the toddler had to be protected, even if it meant raising him and Dean to be hunters so they could protect themselves and each other.

Absently John reached for the pen and paper he'd set on the coffee table only to feel his fingers brush over the scratched wood. Blinking he glanced over, lifting up the journals and other books spread across the table as he searched for the notes he'd been scribbling.

After a moment he found the notes, torn off the notepad and dropped on the floor, but the pad and pen remained missing. Suspiciously John turned his gaze to Sammy and sighed. The toddler was happily scribbling away, having forgotten his blocks in favor of 'coloring'.

Getting up John walked over to his son and knelt down, "Sammy, I need that back."

"Mine." Sammy replied succinctly, without looking up.

"Sammy." John sighed, knowing better than to just take the paper and pen back, "How 'bout we get one of your coloring books, and I'll take that back…"

Sammy's only reply was to turn his back on his father, bringing the pen and paper with him and giving a little two-toned, sing-song, "Mine."

Running his hand through his hair John growled in frustration as he balled his hands into fists. Sammy looked up at his father with startled eyes.

"Daddy mad?"

John groaned as he saw his son's lip tremble, and the big brown eyes looking up at him filled with tears. He knew he should assert his authority but he couldn't. Even knowing he was teaching his son that the things he was doing wouldn't get him reprimanded, which was sure to come around later and bite him in the ass, he just couldn't say no to Sammy.

John sighed, "No, Sammy, I'm not angry…Daddy just has a headache." Besides, it wasn't like he lacked pens and paper around the house. He had another notepad…

Somewhere.

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"_Sammy!"_

"_No! It Sammy's!"_

An angry growl followed, preceding a whiny, _"Daddy!"_

John's head thumped down on the dining room table as the shouts once again echoed through the house. Dean had barely been home from school for 45 minutes, plopped down by the coffee table doing whatever homework a second grader received in the first couple weeks of school while Sammy sat a few feet away playing with toddler puzzles and watching cartoons on TV.

How could they have started one of their battles already?

Groaning, John was just shifting to get to his feet when Sammy ran into the dining room holding Dean's new 64 color box of crayons. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, hoping to ease the headache forming there before it got out of hand, John met his younger son's pleading gaze, seeing the pouty bottom lip tremble. Dean made an appearance from the living room, fuming in ways a seven year old just should not have the ability to fume in.

Shaking his head John turned his back on his sons, propping his elbows on the table, pressing his fingers against his throbbing temples, and counted to 10…then 20…and 30…finally stopping at 40, then continued on to 50 for good measure. Finally, he took a fortifying breath and turned back around, thinking, just maybe, he was ready to attempt to diffuse World War III as his sons worked toward waging it in the dining room.

It was going to be a really, _really_ long night.

_**END**_


	4. Princess Pink and Dean Don't Mix

_**A/N:** A bit more swearing in this one than in the others, just so y'all know._

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_**Princess Pink and Dean Don't Mix**_

_**California**_

_**May 2005**_

The Impala idled quietly, seemingly unnoticed by the group of people crossing back and forth over the apartment building's lawn, carrying boxes in from various cars and trucks. Dean made sure he'd parked far enough away to remain undetected, yet just close enough to easily identify who he was studying.

But then, he could have recognized Sammy from a mile away. He always knew instinctively where his brother was as if they had some…connection neither could explain. It had been there between them for as long as Dean could remember, even when Sammy was just a baby. Sam's recently finished four years at Stanford hadn't seemed to diminish that bond in the slightest.

Dean sat forward in the seat, crossing his arms on top of the steering wheel as he saw Sam reappear from the apartment building to grab another box from a silver Saturn. A small grin crossed his face as a petite blonde stopped beside Sam with a coy grin, obviously teasing him about something.

She was easily pushing around 6 feet, Dean's height, great body poured into a snug tank top, long legs hugged by frayed denim shorts only a few inches longer than the famed Daisy Dukes. And she obviously had Sam eating out of her hand.

"Sammy, you dog." Dean murmured, his grin widening as the girl pulled Sam down into a kiss before leading the way back toward the apartment building, "You are out of your league, baby brother."

As if Sam had heard him the younger Winchester stopped outside the door and glanced around, his gaze seeming to settle on the Impala. Dean tensed. If Sammy knew he was here…suffice to say Dean would get an earful. Sam hated being checked up on 'like a disobedient child'.

After a moment Sam looked away, wandering back into the building, and Dean relaxed, deciding it was time to make his exit. He only hoped he could get past the apartment building without being caught. He really had no other way to go, given there was a dead end on all other sides.

Shifting into drive he slowly inched the car into motion.

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While Jess and her family made sense of the jumble of boxes piled in the center of what would soon be the living room floor, Sam set the box he'd just carried in on a small table beside the open window and leaned on the window sill. Four years away from hunting hadn't affected instincts gained in almost ten years of hunting since he'd first held a .45 at the age of nine.

He was being watched. And he knew who was watching him.

Dean was out there, hiding in the wings. They hadn't spoken to each other since their last big fight almost two years earlier, but Sam knew his brother was close. He'd been hanging around for a couple days now, always just out of sight, emitting some sort of beacon that only Sam could detect. Though, once or twice Sam was positive he'd caught a glimpse of the tail end of a black Impala as it rounded a corner out of sight.

Realistically, he knew Dean wasn't the only person in the world, in California, even, who drove a Chevy Impala. Yet he still knew without a doubt that it was his brother driving away.

He would never admit it aloud, but he actually liked being 'checked up on', though he would insist until the day he died that he was grown up and didn't need to be babysat. It just felt good knowing he was still loved, that he hadn't fully burned all his bridges with his family. At least Dean still cared whether he was alive or dead.

But still, he couldn't let Dean think he'd gotten away Scott free. Reaching into the box he'd set on the nearby table he located the small pouch of homemade paint balls. Jess would kill him when she learned what he'd used to make them the day before, having no paint, but he figured he'd deal with that when he came to it.

He'd just turned back to the window when he saw the Impala pass the apartment building. Grinning he took careful aim, momentarily glad that he and Jess had yet to replace the previously broken screen on the window, and threw the paint balls as hard as he could, taking immense pleasure in the distinctive _'clink'_ as they impacted, one on the windshield, one dead center on the gleaming black hood. The squeal of tires as Dean slammed on the breaks was simply an added bonus.

Sam was leaning partly out the window when his brother threw open the driver's side door and got out, glaring up at him, and yelled, "Bitch!"

"Jerk!" Sam shouted back, oblivious to the sudden silence in the room behind him.

"You are so gonna get your ass kicked for that, Sammy." Dean continued.

"It's Sam." Sam responded, biting back a grin, "And I look forward to it."

"You won't know when, Sammy." Dean said, moving to get back in the car, "But I'll be back."

"As I said," Sam muttered with a chuckle as Dean drove away, "I look forward to it."

As the Impala disappeared around a corner Sam turned away from the window, still chuckling. When he came face to face with the questioning looks shot his way by Jess and her parents, Rob and Diane, Jess' brothers having left a while ago to get food, he froze, almost like a child caught raiding the cookie jar.

"What?"

Jess shook her head, motioning to the window, "What was that?"

Sam gave a small laugh, "Well, that's kinda a funny story. You see, my brother has been hanging around the last couple days keeping an eye on me. You know, classic, overprotective older brother."

"So you threw…paintballs at him?" Jess asked.

Sam smiled, "Uh…"

Rob suddenly chuckled, coming to an accurate conclusion and asking, "Is he the kind who treats his car like it's a family member?"

A nod was Sam's only reply and Rob gave a slightly sinister laugh, "I have a brother just like that and I've wanted to do something similar many times."

Diane shook her head and met her daughter's gaze, "Come, Jess. I'll help you start unpacking the dishes while they have their male bonding time."

Jess mirrored her mother's headshake as they made their way to the kitchen, "Are all men this way?"

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John literally jumped in his chair when the front door suddenly flew open, hitting the wall with a crash, and Dean stalked in fuming, mumbling to himself furiously. The only snatches the elder Winchester was able to catch were the more forcefully spoken words.

"…little…pink…my car…bitch…ass kicked…"

"Dean?" John asked hesitantly, not sure if he really wanted to attract the fury to him, but too curious to resist, "What happened?"

Dean stopped dead in the center of the kitchen, arms crossed, and met his father's gaze, "I drove by to check on Sammy and the little shit threw paintballs at my car. Not just any paint either…Pink. Prissy…pale…Easter bunny _pink_!"

A grin pulled at John's mouth as he watched as his son walked over to the sink, grabbed a bucket and soap from underneath it, and filled the bucket with water, mixing in a somewhat excessive amount of soap. Bucket full of foamy water, Dean shut the faucet off with a bit more force than necessary, hefted the bucket, and walked back out of the house, still mumbling curses under his breath.

Not above laughing at his son's misery, John moved from the chair to the window and used his fingers to pull back the blinds and watch as his son furiously scrubbed at the car. In truth, John was almost wincing at the sight of the classic car covered in pink, but his amusement at Dean overrode that. For several moments Dean scrubbed at the pink stain to no avail before furiously throwing the sponge into the water and splashing himself in the face. John had to actually clamp a hand over his mouth to avoid bursting out laughing at the look on Dean's face when the water came up in his face. Dean furiously patted his pockets a couple times before rolling his eyes and stomping into the house.

Stopping just inside the door Dean glanced around almost frantically for a moment before stalking back to the sink to pick up his phone. John stayed at the window, leaning carelessly against the wall, trying not to laugh.

"Not working?" All he got was a glare so he continued, "We may have some paint remover in…"

"I'm _not using paint remover!_" Dean shouted, looking decidedly horrified.

John merely shook his head, giving into the need to smile as Dean dialed and put the phone to his ear. The muffled sound of ringing reached John's ears. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Sammy, answer the damn phone," Dean growled, impatience written across his face in bold neon.

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Sam irritably glared at his ringing cell phone, knowing who would be on the other end, but also simply wanting to join Jess in the shower. Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that listening to Dean rant was the price for his earlier prank.

After the fourth ring, Sam finally picked up the phone, hit talk, put the phone up to his ear, and…

"How the fuck do you get this shit off!"

Sam winced as he held the phone an arm's length away, his ear ringing from Dean's shriek, before hesitantly putting the phone back to his ear, "I love you too, Dean…try nail polish remover."

At the Winchester's house, John watched as Dean paused and got an incredulous look on his face and replied to whatever Sam had said with, "Dude, you own nail polish."

That dumbfounded statement was finally John's breaking point and he burst out laughing, his side in actual pain because he was laughing so hard.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's comment and then narrowed them as he heard hysterical laughter coming from the other end of the phone, "Dad's actually home?"

Dean glanced over at his father, "Oh, you mean the laughing jackass over in the corner…yeah, he's here. And you never said what you were doing with nail polish."

"It's not mine, dumb ass," Sam replied, his mind not registering the fact that the bathroom door had opened and Jess had stepped out, "It was Jess'…a pretty pale pink just for you."

"You used my Princess Pink nail polish to throw paintballs at your brother!"

Sam's head whipped around toward his girlfriend, his face adopting a deer-in-headlights look as his eyes met her stern gaze, "Uh…."

Dean chuckled on the other end of the phone, speaking in a sing-song tone, "Sammy's gonna get bitch-slapped."

John, still chuckling slightly, raised an eyebrow at his son's comment.

For Sam, the comment was the kick in the butt he needed to respond to his girlfriend, "Jess, I can explain…I…I'll buy you some more," he responded sweetly, unknowingly adopting the puppy dog look that no one in Sam's life, Dean, Dad, or Jess, could resist.

However, Jess maintained her stern look and said coolly, "Sam, get off the phone."

"I…I'm talking to Dean," Sam responded to Jess.

To which Dean promptly, and decidedly cheerily, replied, "I can call back later."

Jess' response was to repeat a little more firmly, "Sam. Get. Off. The. Phone."

"I…I don't want to," Sam half squeaked.

Jess narrowed her eyes, and adopted a tactic that would capture any man's attention…even Sam's. She unwrapped and dropped the towel she was wearing.

The result was exactly what she'd expected…Sam's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in appreciation.

Meanwhile, Dean was confused when Sam didn't respond and started trying to get his attention.

"Sam?"

"Sam!"

"Sammy!!!!!"

"Uh…"

Dean suddenly got a slow grin on his face that John instantly recognized and Sam would have rolled his eyes at if he could see it, "She's naked isn't she."

"I'll call you back," was Sam's reply as the phone suddenly went dead.

Dean pulled the phone back and stared at it with the same feral grin as he shut it off, "Sam-my!" Dean replied in crude, two-toned appreciation.

"What?" John asked still close enough to Dean to have heard the entire part of his eldest son's conversation.

"Sammy is gettin' laid," Dean replied.

John snorted. "Lucky bastard," he said, as he headed toward the back of the house and his bedroom.

Dean heaved a somewhat envious sigh as he clearly pictured Jess as he'd seen her only hours earlier in his mind's eye, "Lucky bastard, indeed. That girl had legs made to wrap around a man's waist."

As he turned to go back outside to his car he paused, turning back to face John where he'd stopped in the doorway to the hall, "Dad, do we have any nail polish remover?"

"Yeah, Dean." John replied sarcastically with a nod, "I keep it in my purse next to my favorite lipstick and blush."

Letting the sarcasm roll past Dean released another sigh, "Maybe Jennifer has some."

"Jennifer?" John asked, "Didn't you have a date with a girl named Kelly, last night?"

"No," Dean replied absently, searching for his keys as he realized they weren't in his pocket, "Last night was Rachel."

"What happened to Kelly?"

Dean met his father's gaze with a cocky grin, "She's tomorrow."

"God, Dean!" John half moaned, "You're like a walking hormone."

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Morning dawned with sunlight streaming though the window, across Sam's face, pulling him from a deep sleep. Sighing he stretched, his hand sliding over the bed beside him, telling him Jess was no longer in bed with him. Sitting up he saw the note on her pillow saying she'd gone grocery shopping and she'd be back soon.

Stretching more fully, now that he was sitting, Sam debated jumping in the shower, shifting to stand just as his phone rang. Picking it up, he answered with a yawn and a drowsy, "Hello?"

He clearly heard the grin in his brother's voice when Dean drawled, "Hard night, Sammy?"

An answering grin crossed Sam's face, "I wanna get bitch-slapped like that more often."

Dean chuckled, putting a slightly teary lilt to his voice, "My Sammy's finally a man."

"Shut up, Dean." Sam drawled.

"Alright, alright." Dean relented, "Oh, by the way, Sammy. You're lucky the nail polish remover worked."

_**END**_


	5. Secrets and Car Thieves

_**Secrets and Car Thieves**_

_**Maine**_

_**July 1995**_

John entered the small apartment quietly, expecting Sam to be in bed as it was nearly midnight. Sixteen year old Dean, on the other hand, he expected to see still up and about, watching TV or finishing up the hated homework that he always seemed to procrastinate on until the last minute. He was surprised to see the apartment completely darkened, and his ingrown hunter instincts kicked in, telling him something was wrong, though it was nothing evil.

Keeping his voice pitched low, not wanting to wake Sam, John called for Dean, expecting an immediate answer, knowing that, even if Dean was in bed, the elder of his sons would have heard him enter the apartment no matter how quiet he'd been. Even so young, Dean was a born hunter, nearly surpassing John's own skills and instincts. Besides, if there was even the slightest amount of risk to 'his Sammy' Dean was on high alert; nothing got past him.

Worry slowly seeping in John chanced a bit louder call, "Dean?"

Still no answer and John began making his way down the short hall toward the bedroom the brothers shared, thinking just maybe Dean was in a deep sleep and hadn't heard him. Upon reaching the door and quietly inching it open he began to panic, seeing only one body curled under the covers on the double bed. The dark wisps of shaggy curls told him it was Sam he was seeing.

Where was Dean?

Fearing the worst John made his way to the bedside and gently shook Sam awake, knowing he'd have to deal with a cranky twelve year old in the morning, but deeming it a necessary risk. It took a couple tries to wake the boy, but finally Sam sat up, his brown eyes sleep gazed, eyelids drooping with lingering sleepiness. Sighing he brought up his hands to rub his eyes and scowled at the person who'd woken him.

"Dad?" The voice was sleep roughened and confused, "What's wrong? Where's Dean?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing." John replied, watching Sam's reaction to that announcement closely.

For a moment the boy looked confused then drew in a nearly imperceptible gasp, his eyes widening a fraction. If John hadn't been watching as closely as he was he would have missed both. In that moment John knew… Wherever Dean was, he shouldn't be there…and Sam knew very well where 'there' was.

For a moment Sam remained silent, obviously attempting to come up with a plausible story regarding his brother's whereabouts. John fully intended to nip that idea in the bud.

"Sammy," he started warningly, forcing the boy to meet his gaze with his tone alone, "Where is Dean?"

Sam heaved a sigh, "I don't know where he went..."

"Samuel!" John hissed.

"Honest!" Sam responded, "I don't know!"

"What do you know?" John asked, knowing Sam was hiding something, "And don't you lie to me, Samuel Winchester!"

Wincing, Sam kept his gaze lowered, pulling at a loose thread on the blanket covering his legs, knowing he was in trouble. John only used their full names when they were in trouble.

'_Sorry, Dean,'_ he thought before forcing his gaze to John's, "Have you checked our parking spot?"

John tilted his head slightly, wondering why Sam was asking such a strange question. He'd walked right past it upon entering the apartment building. It had been exactly where it should be, no strange demon that could move parking spaces had done away with it…

Wait. The space had been empty when it should have been full of one black, 1967 Chevy Impala.

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Dean was whistling as he sauntered into the apartment, swinging his keychain around one finger. He only vaguely registered the lights burning brightly until he entered the kitchen to find Sam sitting at the table eating a bowl of what appeared to be Lucky Charms. Stopping in the doorway he cocked a brow.

"Sammy? What are you doing up?"

Sam looked up silently, rolling his eyes toward the left giving a nearly imperceptible jerk of his head in the same direction. Dean tilted his head questioningly, watching with a slightly narrowed gaze as Sam did his little eye-roll, head-jerk again.

"Have you suddenly picked up a head-tic or something, Sammy?" Dean asked with a small grin.

The younger Winchester heaved a sigh and jerked his head a bit harder, trying to tell Dean something he was obviously not getting. Dean was about to speak up again when he was cut off by a familiar voice coming from the doorway.

"He's trying to warn you about me."

Dean spun around to face the doorway to the living room to find his father leaning against the frame, feet crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest, "Dad!"

"Dean," John replied, "Two choices. Beheading or hanging. Choose wisely."

"Um…is there a third choice?"

John gave a small nod, "Grounded for life…helping Sammy with his homework."

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust, "I don't want his help…he's dumber than I am."

"I am not!" Dean yelled, temporarily forgetting the fact that he was in major trouble.

"The last time you helped me with my homework, I got an F."

"Oh, Sammy, don't be so dramatic…you did not."

"Ohhh…like a D- is so much better," Sam replied sarcastically.

"Boys!" John yelled, hiding his amusement at the situation since his sons wouldn't take him seriously if he was laughing, "Alright, change of plans, while you're grounded, Dean, Sam is going to help you with your homework."

"He's 12!" Dean exclaimed as Sam rolled his eyes.

John sighed, and, ignoring Dean's protest, he held out his hands, "Keys."

"But…" Dean started, falling back on the puppy look that always got Sam out of trouble but never seemed to work for him.

"Dean," John ground out, "Keys!"

Grumbling about the unfairness of it all Dean half stomped forward and handed his father the keys he'd been twirling around his finger.

Without even glancing at the keys in his hand John set them on the counter and held his hand out again, "The car keys, Dean."

Heaving a sigh that his ploy hadn't worked Dean pulled the car keys out of his jeans pocket, planted them firmly in his father's hand, and snatched his apartment keys off the counter. John slipped the car keys in his pocket, forcing himself to remain serious in the face of Dean's pouting.

"I can't believe you stole my car. And what's worse, you left Sammy alone again. I thought you'd learned that lesson already."

"I'm sorry." Dean mumbled, "It won't happen again."

"You're right," John responded, "It won't, because you'll be lucky to get out of this apartment for school, much less for fun. You're grounded for the week. And if you still haven't learned your lesson…we'll discuss further punishment then. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir." Dean replied, properly cowed.

"Good," John sighed, "Now, both of you get to bed. You have school tomorrow."

As the brothers walked out of the kitchen side by side John watched them go shaking his head, "What am I going to do with them, Mary?"

He distinctly felt a small warmth suffuse his chest and clearly heard Mary's voice inside his head, as if she stood by his side.

'_Just love them, John. Even when they try your patience.'_

_** END**_


	6. Terrible Twos

_**A/N:** Sadly, we are nearing the end of the oneshots we have finished and ready to post for this series, but we have more in progress; we just have to figure out how to finish them. There are two more oneshots we have finished in this series, then the posts will come to an end until we finish the others. Sorry._

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_**Montana**_

_**June 1985**_

John sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, fingers fisted in his hair, the heels of his hands pressed against his temples, hoping to alleviate the headache pounding just under the surface. He wasn't prone to headaches, but he'd had his fair share. This headache, though, had a specific name, age, and gender.

Sammy, two, male.

"_Are you hungry, Sammy?"_

"_No."_

"_Thirsty?"_

"_No."_

"_Do you want to play a game?"_

"_No."_

"_I think it's time for a nap."_

"_No!"_

That had been followed by the patter of little feet wearing miniature tan work boots running away. John went in pursuit, knowing exactly how much damage his entirely too bright, younger son was capable of doing.

The elder Winchester got into the hallway just in time to see the bathroom door close and hear the lock click. Panic had assailed the father, thinking of all the stories he'd heard of children drowning…he couldn't lose Sammy. He'd rushed forward, his heart pounding.

"Oh, sh…Sammy, unlock the door!" John's heart was pounding the whole time.

"No!"

The response had been muffled, coming from further down the hall seconds before the lock on John's bedroom door had also clicked. Only then had the elder Winchester remembered the sliding door between his bedroom and the bathroom.

John stood in a momentary stunned silence. The little shit had known enough to lock _both_ doors. Well, at least that must mean he was smart enough not to drown himself in the bathroom. Every parent always wished for smart children without taking into account the fact that geniuses went through childhood as well…and were a bigger pain than normal kids.

'_Just my luck that Sam's as far from normal as possible, and a smart little shit to boot.'_

"Sammy…"

"No."

'_Okay…I'm not above using bribes in times of desperation.'_

"Dean will be home soon."

Silence. Maybe he was actually considering…

"No!"

John grit his teeth together as he made his way toward the kitchen where items for picking locks were kept, silently wondering if abusive parents were simply people who went insane during the toddler years. Probably not, but stress didn't make John think well.

It had taken twenty minutes to get to the toddler and had required the use of a now ruined credit card and bent butter knife to get the door unlocked. Upon getting the door open John had nearly been sent tumbling as the two year old had run out the door, straight between his legs, heading for the other bedroom.

Quickly John had run after his son, snaring him by the back of his t-shirt a mere heartbeat before he reached his destination. Restraining the boy with one arm around his small waist the elder had headed for the kitchen, ignoring the kicking feet, swinging arms, and squeals. Upon reaching the kitchen he'd plopped the boy in the high chair and buckled him in before trapping him there with the tray, and grabbed a sippy-cup of juice and a box of Lucky Charms.

Positioning the high chair so it could be seen from the living room John had set the juice down, poured a pile of cereal on the tray, and left Sammy there to do as he pleased. Setting the box of cereal back on the counter he'd made a bee-line for the living room and collapsed onto the couch where he'd remained for the last ten minutes, listening as Sammy played with his snack, babbling to himself, and occasionally crunching a piece of cereal, apparently happy now that he'd done his best to drive his father straight to the funny farm and back. Was that in every person's contract before they were allowed to be born…_parents must be driven insane on a regular basis_.

Dean had never been this bad. Or maybe he had and Mary had just known how to deal with it better than John. That and Mary was always the one who had been home with Dean during the day. Either way, he found himself wishing his beautiful wife was beside him now. Hell, _anyone_ who was willing to help him would be much appreciated.

Luckily, Dean would be getting off his school bus about now and would be walking through that door any minute.

'_Speak of the devil,'_ John thought as the kitchen door opened, prior to a thud as Dean's backpack hit the floor, followed by two shoes impacting with the wall as they were kicked off. Next came the sound of the fridge opening and closing as Dean grabbed a juice box.

John followed the routine mentally, well accustomed to it. Everyday was the same. Normally John would get up and meet his elder son in the kitchen, but today he simply lacked the energy.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said as he stopped by his little brother, "Whatcha got there?"

"Cer'yal." Sam said happily, holding a soggy piece out for his brother to taste.

Dean shook his head with a grin, "Nah, you eat it, Sammy."

The elder boy ruffled the toddler's shaggy dark hair before waking into the living room, "Dad?"

A small sigh escaped John. Dean had only recently decided that, seeing as he was 6 ½, he was too old say 'Daddy' anymore. John missed it, and looked forward to the times his elder son slipped up and called him 'Daddy' again.

A small hand on his shoulder drew John's attention to Dean as the boy asked, "What's wrong?"

"I think a demon has taken residence inside your brother."

A small grin crossed Dean's face, "You always say that, Daddy."

_There's that beautiful word. _

"Well…I mean it this time." John insisted, "No matter what I say, his answer is no. I asked him if he was hungry, he said no. I asked him if he was thirsty, he said no. I asked him if he wanted to play a game, he said no. I said it was time for a nap, he _screamed_ no, locked himself in the bathroom…and knew enough to lock my bedroom door…"

John cut off when he heard the tiny giggle escape Dean. His gaze narrowed in mock anger, "Are you laughing at me?"

The boy pursed his lips to hide his smile as he shook his head. Giving a playful growl John pulled Dean into his arms, "You are. I can see your smile."

Dean shrieked in laughter as John tickled him. From the kitchen, Sammy's higher pitched baby-giggle joined his brother's, John's deeper laughter completing the moment.

Terrible two's and headaches aside, John Winchester was nothing without his boys, and would fight to the death to keep them safe from anything and anyone. He'd take on the world...

And he'd win every time.

_**END**_


	7. Watch Me While I Sleep

**Watch Me While I Sleep**

_**Lawrence, Kansas**_

_**December 1983**_

He honestly didn't know why he had ever gone back to the garage. The work, the friends, the light atmosphere, the pride in co-owning his own business…in providing for his own family, all of that was gone. There had been no light since November 2nd.

Since the fire.

Almost as bad as the fire was the aftermath. The pity and worried looks he always saw in people's eyes. And then that worry turning to alarm as he continued to peruse old archives, visit Missouri, and return to the house for answers. His business partner even suggested he see a psychologist…try to get some help.

But none of them understood.

They hadn't stared straight into the face of evil. Hadn't felt it, lived it…been haunted by it.

None of his friends had seen Mary. Stomach slashed, a look of pure fear on her face as she burst into flame on the ceiling. They all thought it had been an accident. No one listened to him when he said that something had killed Mary…something that was pure evil.

His world had gone up in flames along with his wife.

Because it wasn't just Mary's death. His sons had changed as well.

Dean.

The hyperactive little chatterbox had grown quiet and serious. He never smiled or laughed anymore…in fact he hardly ever talked at all. The caretakers at the daycare that he had been bringing the boys to had also intervened to suggest a counselor for Dean to see. He'd responded by pulling both of his boys from the daycare and asking Missouri to care for them during the day. It's not like he planned to stay in Lawrence for much longer.

A counselor couldn't help either him or Dean. One look into Dean's eyes and John knew that despite that fact that his son wasn't even five yet, the boy understood. Knew that evil had walked their supposedly safe house and taken his mother. A child psychologist couldn't help someone with that kind of knowledge. Because the illusion and innocence of childhood that said that adults could always keep you safe and have all the answers had been shattered.

Dean wasn't a child anymore.

And Sam.

The boy wasn't even a year old and he already felt so much. Was sensitive to all that went on around him.

Sam had always been a well behaved baby. He rarely cried and was always smiling. His sweet nature had always ensured that the Winchesters had volunteer babysitters despite the fact that babysitting Sam also meant having to keep up with a hyperactive four year old.

Now Sam always cried…actually screamed. Sensing that the most comforting presence in his life was gone and wasn't coming back.

Only sleep offered some respite for a soul that had lost his innocence entirely too early.

John broke himself out of his musings and got up from his seat, quietly slipping the papers into his desk where they would be found soon enough. He'd told no one about his plans. About the fact that he had just signed away his half of the garage to his partner, Eddie, for absolutely nothing. Money meant nothing. It couldn't help him in the years ahead.

"Eddie, I'm heading out," John yelled without looking over his shoulder.

"John," Eddie was trying to catch his attention to no avail, "Please speak with someone…everyone here is worried about you."

John ignored him and got in the car. He had to bite his lip to keep a retort from coming out. He wasn't ever coming back. He had to get out of Lawrence…tonight.

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John drove over to Missouri's, knocked on the door, said hello and other formalities all in a haze. He still managed to have these moments were he went completely numb to all that went on around him and appeared to be in a daze. Missouri understood this and always allowed John to speak first.

Almost an hour went by this time before John, now seated on the couch, became aware of his surroundings and the unusual quiet.

"Where are the boys?" he asked, suddenly sitting up in concern.

"Asleep," Missouri answered softly, and then added, "All the crying exhausted poor Sammy and he finally fell asleep just before you came home…Dean fell asleep a few minutes later. The boy wouldn't go to bed until he was sure his brother was okay."

John nodded. Dean had been protective of Sammy since the day his baby brother was born, and the fire had only served to increase Dean's dedication to Sam.

"John…have you noticed anything unusual about Sam," Missouri asked hesitantly.

John avoided her eye contact, "What do you mean by 'unusual'?"

Missouri sighed, not wanting to bring this up, but also feeling an obligation to tell John everything she knew. Most of the people who came to her for a reading wanted reassurance, regardless if it was the truth or not. Not John Winchester. He wanted, needed, the truth.

Well, she had another burden for his consideration.

"That child is powerful."

John looked up at her, "What do you mean?"

"I know he has certain abilities, but I couldn't quite make them out," she said, "In fact, I was barely even able to detect he has abilities…something has bound them."

John seemed to shake his head as if he couldn't deal with this information, but Missouri was a little suspicious of his behavior. Was that reluctance, or avoidance? Did he already know something about his son?

"None of this matters, Missouri," John said, as he stood up, "I need to get the boys out of Lawrence…there's just too many memories here."

"At least stay the night, and tomorrow…after all it's Christmas Eve, John," Missouri stated simply, "I think what those boys need is some reassurance…that they haven't lost both of their parents."

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Dean didn't know what time it was when he woke up, but he knew that it was the middle of the night, and Daddy and the Missouri lady were both asleep.

But Sammy wasn't.

Dean felt, more than heard, the start of whimpers coming from Sammy's crib next door. Sammy was always scared these days.

Not hesitating for one second, Dean scooted out of bed and padded out of his room to Sammy's temporary nursery next door. As Dean pushed open the door, Sam's little whimpers became full cries.

"It's okay, Sam," Dean whispered as he moved up to Sam's crib, but Dean's words were only rewarded by Sam's cries increasing in volume. Wasting no time, Dean started scrambling up the bars and into the crib itself, sensing that the reassurance that Sam needed would come from actions not words.

It never even occurred to Dean that a boy who was nearly 5 years old would look ridiculous sleeping in a crib…Sammy needed him.

Sam's cries had started to quiet as Dean came into the crib, and as Dean stretched out beside the baby, Sam quieted to simply whimpers.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean repeated, "I'll always be here for you."

Sam had quieted down by that time, and it was the quiet that drew Dean's attention to the fact that someone was standing over the crib.

Slowly Dean's face twisted upward to stare at his father. Sammy was already staring upward.

"Daddy…Sammy needed…"

"It's okay, Dean…I know," John replied as he reached into the crib. Dean momentarily tensed, thinking that Daddy was going to pick up Sam and upset him again. But John scooped up both of his sons and headed out of the room with them.

Dean's confusion was lifted as he realized that his dad was taking them back to his bedroom.

"We're staying with you, Daddy?"

John smiled, "Sometimes adults need reassurance as well, Dean."

As they reached the room, John gently placed both of his sons down on the bed and then laid down as well, making sure to keep Sam in between him and Dean. With the presence of both his brother and his father around him, Sam started cooing quietly for the first time since his mother had died. He then quietly drifted off to sleep to the wonder of both John and Dean. After several moments had passed, John looked curiously at his eldest.

"Aren't you tired, Dean?"

"I'm afraid," Dean said quietly.

"Of what?" John asked with a hitch to his voice.

"That it will come back for Sammy."

John was startled. He hadn't actually come out and told Dean the whole story of what had happened to Mary. He'd barely managed to squeeze out the fact that Mommy had been taken by the fire and wasn't coming back.

But somehow…Dean knew.

"As long as I draw breath, Dean…it will never come near either of you."

Dean's eyes rose up to meet his father. His expression hopeful.

"Watch over me as I sleep, Daddy?"

John smiled, "I always will."

Reassured, the young boy drifted off to sleep alongside his baby brother. John continued to stay awake, simply content to watch his two sons…the light that Mary had left behind, "I'll keep them safe, Mary. They are my world."

That night, John needed his sons beside him to fall asleep, just as much as the boys needed him. As the damaged, but not completely broken, family started to heal and mend, Missouri quietly closed the door with a knowing smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas, boys."

**END**


	8. Winchester Rules Are Made to be Broken

_**A/N:** Okay, last one for the time being until we finish the others. Sorry._

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_**Winchester Rules Are Made to be Broken**_

_**Tennessee **_

_**July 1994**_

John had only three rules when he was away, leaving his boys alone. Three rules he stressed anytime he had to leave…

1.) Always be prepared for anything, expect the unexpected.

2.) Don't open the door to anyone who doesn't know the week's pre-chosen password.

3.) No visitors, no girls…Dean, this means you.

Even at only 15 Dean had girls hanging on him, girls as old as 18…and that 19 year old several months earlier that John had been livid about. Besides, Dean liked the girls.

'_Really,'_ insert cocky, I'm-cute-and-I-know-it grin here, _'Who am I to stand in the way when the chicks won't take no for an answer?'_

Sam quietly made his way down the hallway of the townhouse the Winchesters had rented for the last week, toward the bedroom he shared with his brother, camera in hand. He knew he risked getting a beating with the devious plan he was in the process of acting out, but, really, what were little brothers for?

A high-pitched giggle from inside the room had Sam rolling his eyes as he stopped just outside the partially open door. Girls were so annoying the way they giggled and batted their lashes, trying to catch Dean's eye. It was positively sickening.

Shaking his head Sam pushed the door open on silent hinges and sneered in classic 11-year-old disgust at the sight greeting his eyes. The girl was on her back, Dean half hovering over her, one elbow braced on the mattress beside her head, hand at her waist, mouths locked. Neither noticed him as he stood in the doorway.

Until the camera clicked.

The girl gave a small, startled scream, somewhat overkill in Sam's opinion considering he faced down demons three times his size with merely a sneer and a silver-loaded .45. Girls were such wimps.

Of course, Sam was only peripherally aware of the girl, his gaze locked on Dean as his brother shot into a sitting position, glaring at the younger with his 'I'm-gonna-kick-some-demon-ass' look. Or in this case, little brother's ass. His gaze turned almost murderous when he saw the camera.

"SAMMY!!!"

The younger Winchester took off running, heading back down the hall. The crack of the bedroom door bouncing off the wall, obviously doing some damage, as it was thrown the rest of the way open, and the following rhythmic thud of running footsteps told him Dean was close behind.

They were getting louder by the moment…Dean was catching up.

Sam skidded around the corner into the small dining room, his socks sliding on the tile. Nearly doing a nose dive he half ran, half crawled toward, and around, the table, placing it between him and the entrance to the hallway seconds before Dean appeared looking like some avenging God. The sight of his brother doing the same skid-slip-scramble into the dining room pulled a small chuckle from Sam that was cut off abruptly as Dean reached the table, glaring across the scratched surface at him.

"Sammy, give me that camera!"

"Whatever you say, Deano." Sam chirped, using the name he'd called Dean by when he was younger, knowing his brother hated it.

'_I'm not that stupid barking dinosaur from the _Flintstones_, Sammy!'_

Grinning innocently Sam pushed the camera across the table to his brother, surreptitiously slipping the Polaroid picture into the back of his jeans, knowing the odds of Dean going there, at least until he got desperate, were slim.

Dean barely spared the camera a glance as he just barely caught Sam's actions, knowing the little punk still had the picture, "Sammy, you have until the count of three to hand over that picture before I kick your ass."

"Come and get it." Sam taunted bracing himself for whatever move Dean made.

Releasing a low growl Dean took a couple steps to his right, intending to go around the table, only to stop as Sam also moved to the right, step for step, matching Dean. A feint to the left failed to catch Sam off guard, as the brothers were so in sync with each other they almost knew what the other was going to do before he knew himself.

For an extended moment the brothers had a battle of wills as they faced each other challengingly across the table, neither aware of the girl standing in the hallway entrance watching the scene unfold. Sam kept a light, taunting smile on his face in response to Dean's scowl.

"Sammy." Dean warned.

"Deano." Sam responded.

Without warning Dean sprang into action, jumping onto the table and crawling across. Almost in the same instant Sam dropped to the floor, laughing, and crawled underneath the table. Dean paused halfway across the table and spun around just in time to see Sam scramble to his feet and head for the door at a run.

"Sammy!" Dean snarled, jumping off the table and following his brother out the door.

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John pulled up to the townhouse in time to see his sons tear out the door, Sammy laughing, Dean looking furious. He threw open his door and got out, leaving the car running just as Dean caught Sam in a diving tackle where they wrestled for a moment before Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, got to his feet, and literally flipped his brother upside down, the younger Winchester's head dangling a full foot from the pavement of the sidewalk.

A flurry of movement at the door of the house momentarily drew John's attention from his sons as a pretty girl ran down the steps and took off in the opposite direction from him.

"Sammy, give me that picture!" Dean growled, drawing John's attention back to his boys.

"Nope!" Sam ground out, his face already turning red from the blood rushing to his head, as he tried to kick and hit his way free.

"I swear, Sammy, I'll…"

"Dean!" John yelled, startling both boys, realizing too late that it wasn't the best idea when Dean's grip on Sam slipped and the younger boy hit the pavement, hard, on his head.

"Sammy!"

The shout was two-toned. The not quite matured, cracking shout of a 15 year old boy, and the full, rich baritone of a gown man, as both elder Winchesters panicked at the steady flow of blood now staining the right side of Sam's face and forming a small pool on the pavement.

Dean fell to his knees, cursing himself for the biggest fool in the world as he gathered Sam into his arms, pressing the hem of his t-shirt against the cut at Sam's hairline.

Panic like he'd never felt before spurred John hard as he crossed the yard in what felt like a single leap. He barely spared Dean a look as he picked Sam up and rushed into the house, heading for the bathroom where he kept the first aid kit. Head wounds were nothing to mess with.

Setting Sam down on the toilet John grabbed a wash cloth and set about cleaning up the majority of the blood around the cut so he could get a good look at it. He could hear Dean pacing outside the open door but he kept his focus on his younger son.

The next few moments seemed to stretch into an eternity as he silently and quickly cleaned and bandaged the wound, thankfully deeming it not bad enough to need stitches. Sam sat in silence, looking a little stunned, barely even wincing as his father pressed the bandage onto his head.

"Sammy, how many fingers am I holding up?" John asked, holding up three fingers once he was confident the wound was taken care of to the best of his ability.

"Three." Sam responded surely, "I'm fine, really."

John studied Sam's eyes, looking for any sign of a concussion or a simple stubborn attempt to not admit to pain that seemed inherent in all three Winchesters. After a moment he heaved a sigh and nodded, confident that Sam was fine except for the headache he was sure to have. Only then did he turn on Dean.

"Dean Winchester! What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I…" Dean started, still in shock at what had just happened, "I'm sorry, I…I didn't mean to. He just slipped."

"Why were you holding him upside down anyway?" John asked

Dean winced, "He, uh, he has a picture…of me…"

The eldest Winchester shook his head, holding up a hand, "Let me guess, of you and the girl I saw leaving."

A small nod was Dean's only response and John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Alright, I can't deal with everything right now. Dean, just go to your room, I'll be there shortly to speak to you once I get Sammy taken care of."

Another nod and Dean threw Sam an apologetic look, "I really am sorry, Sammy."

Sam gave him a grin, "No worries, Deano. I have the same hard, Winchester head as you and Dad."

Both John and Dean laughed at the cheeky response before Dean shook his head, "Bitch."

Again Sam grinned, "Love you too, jerk."

_**END**_


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